Lover Leave Me Drowning
by hollygofightly
Summary: When Richard accepted Gillian's job offer, he had no way of knowing what their nights would entail. A glimpse a the early days of the Artemis Club. Inspired by spaghettiandcoffee, worn-whorehouse-stairs, blowingupbabettes, and many others on Tumblr. Rated M for sexual content (and lots of it). Much more to come *wink*
1. Chapter 1

It began, as it so often does, when he couldn't sleep, as if he ever could. That night, he had been compelled to rise from his too-comfortable new bed and traverse the halls, hoping his rhythmic footsteps might lull him into relaxation. Somehow, he doubted it.

It had been only a matter of weeks since he had accepted her offer to come and work for her, keeping an eye on Tommy and the grounds. He knew his skill and his arsenal of weapons had served a role in her interest, but couldn't help but hope that a part of her had desired his mere presence in the house, as well. They had never been close; she distrusted his closeness to her son and the wife she would have preferred not to acknowledge, while he resented her for her insistence on removing all memory of Angela from their lives, from Tommy's. But he had not hesitated when she had laid her offer on the table, knowing full well that he could use his closeness to Tommy, and to Jimmy, to his advantage. Gillian Darmody was not the only one capable of playing games.

In hindsight, he couldn't be sure what had drawn him to her room that night. He knew somehow that he would find her awake, and halfway through a bottle, most likely with tears streaming down her face for her poor, lost child. Tommy was a painful reminder of his father's absence, but even after the boy had been tucked into bed (by Richard, always by Richard), Jimmy's ghost filled the shadows of the old mansion and threatened to suffocate its few occupants with each passing breath. It was still only the three of them here, while Gillian made arrangements and Richard made repairs. In the daylight hours, she was consumed with her beloved brainchild, a gentleman's club with the class and sophistication that so many brothels lacked, but here, in the dark and the quiet of the waning evening, there was nothing to keep Jimmy's memory at bay. That's when they needed each other most.

He raised his hand to knock, but thought the better of it. Instead, he slowly turned the handle and sidled into the doorway.

"Is that you?" she said thickly, through a fog of tears.

He hummed in response.

"Come in, then. And close the door." It was as if she had been expecting him, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why that might be.

He shut the door softly behind him, though to be fair there was no one on this floor he could wake up. "Are you. All right?" he asked softly.

She dabbed her eyes with the back of a girlish hand and struggled to regain her composure. "Richard," she said, thrusting her chin up in feigned confidence, "may I ask you a question?"

He nodded, acutely aware of the way her silk kimono drooped to expose an inviting shoulder.

"Do you find me attractive?"

He looked away, half of his face burning scarlet while the other remained hidden safely behind a strip of painted tin.

"Is that a yes?" She had risen from her seat and was sauntering towards him now, a pungent layer of rum on her breath. She was ever so close now, taking his hands from where he had clasped them nervously before him and placing them on either side of her delicately tapered waist. He was powerless to stop her from unbuckling his belt, from digging deep within his trousers to find the part of him that wasn't quite so timid, which she met with a gasp and a smile.

Her touch was like velvet, her grasp steady and rhythmic. He could feel his mind fogging over as he stared into her lovely, if bloodshot, eyes. She steered him to the bed, pushing him backwards as he tripped over the pants around his ankles, and straddled him, dominated him, her hand still fastened tightly around him.

"Have you ever been with a woman before?"

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard.

"But not often, I take it."

What had he come here for? Each deft stroke brought him ever closer to the precipice, yet his heart sank at her touch.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," she admonished, reading his thoughts. "Think of this as…a lesson."

She eased him inside of her without another word, letting her eyes flutter closed as she accepted him hungrily within her. His hands were frozen on her hips as she gyrated, each movement the practiced choreography of a professional. She read his reactions like the pages of a book, lifting her hips when he neared release and bucking them forward and back to facilitate her own. Each skillful orbit brought tears to her eyes.

She did not kiss him, not when he could feel her body succumb to the tremors of her climax, not when she released him just as he felt the overwhelming rush of his own. And after, as she wiped the viscous, pearlescent liquid from his abdomen with a warm cloth and no trace of a smile, neither dared breathe a word.

He had settled back into bed that night, aware that a line had been crossed, aware that he was eager to cross it again, and the slumber into which the night's activities ushered him eagerly were for once free of terrifying visions of the past. When the light of dawn coaxed him awake, it was her face that filled his mind, leaving him more than ready to take on a day of insults and belittling for another night of needed escape. He needn't ask her if she agreed; he would simply return to her that night and let her teach him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

The dark of the night had always been the hardest. Since she was a girl, it had filled her with foreboding; now, with the demons bearing down upon her with each waking breath, it threatened to swallow her whole. Each sip of bourbon was easier than the last as she fought against the current that carried her ever further towards an ocean of melancholy, and soon her mind began to mercifully fog. The clock hands twisted, unreadable in her drunken haze, and she waited with bated breath.

He was standing before her in no time at all, his real eye cast towards the floor while the painted one lingered on her with a cold, disconcerting insistence. She would be lying to herself if she failed to acknowledge the warmth radiating from deep within her at the sight of his lean but capable limbs and the swelling in his trousers that betrayed his naive reticence.

"I wasn't sure if you would come," she said, as sweetly as she could manage, though she knew that he hadn't come here for affection. She ignored the strange hum that escaped his throat as she sauntered towards him, aware of the silken fabric of her kimono drooping down one shoulder. She undressed him not as a mother would, gingerly freeing each button in turn and feeling his breath quicken at her touch. Her power over him excited her more than she dared to let on.

"Gillian," he growled, the roughness in his damaged voice sending shivers down her spine.

"Perhaps it's best if we don't speak." She slid his shirt from his shoulders, letting her hands explore the taut muscles of his arms as she eased them from his sleeves. He caught her hands and gripped them with a frightening intensity. Her eyes flashed to his, but she looked away before she could truly register the pain contained therein. With a sly smile, she lifted his hands to her shoulders and led them to the edges of her robe, which slipped to the floor with little effort. Standing there, her bare skin luminescent in the lamplight, she waited for him to grab her, to grope and fondle as all men had, but he stood frozen before her in his undershirt and trousers, fingers twisting in his nervous hands. She found the tic infuriating at the best of times, but now took it as a challenge.

It was these anxious hands that she took in hers, pressing them to her chest as she luxuriated in the tremors that swept through her as his fingers began tentatively to play along. She hurried her work of undressing him, freeing him from his trousers and catching his swollen member in her experienced hands. She had been surprised by his endowment before, but had yearned for it in spite of herself ever since.

She led him back to the desk without letting her hand leave his throbbing skin; her free hand gripped his undershirt, the only stitch of clothing still hiding him from her. Her strokes were sure and calculated as she commanded his pleasure with malicious satisfaction. Each grunt and panting breath was a victory against him; each tease of her thumb on the head of his member reasserted her dominance.

Again, she reached for his hand, leaning back against the desk as she led his fingers between her legs. Eyes closed, she pressed one of his long fingers against her quivering bundle of nerves, guiding his touch until he found a rhythm that sent her reeling before she eased his hand inside of her; his free hand found her breast hungrily, and she tossed her head back in unintended ecstasy as the throws of her climax overcame her.

Suddenly she needed him more than ever. She threw his hand to the wayside and grabbed his cock, plunging it deep within her with a guttural gasp. He lifted her onto the desk, pushing himself deeper with each thrust as her nails dug into his back and her head began to spin with images of Jimmy hovering over her in the dark, filling her with his love and with his pain as she assured him again and again that it was all right, that it wasn't wrong, that this was how they were supposed to feel. Her tears stung and she steadied Richards hips, slowing his progress just as she could feel him nearing release.

She struggled to push Jimmy from her mind, gripping Richard's buttocks and willing the tears away. She could feel him suppressing the coming explosion, as Jimmy had so many years before, and let him push himself ever further within her. She chanced a look into his eye to find it as reddened as her own; she lifted herself off of him just in time to see a stream of pearly ejaculate cascade to the floor.

Again, he stood frozen in place as she slid from her perch, sidestepping the sticky pool to retrieve her robe from where it laid abandoned by their feet. His shoulders hunched forward as he stared at the floor, naked and vulnerable, but she took no pleasure in the sight. "You'll need to clean that up in the morning," she said coldly as she washed her hands in the porcelain washbasin, avoiding the sight of her reflection in the mirror.

In the corner of her eye, she caught his curt nod. He was mercifully quick, dressing and leaving her to her nothing but her aching thoughts before the darkness overtook her once more.


	3. Chapter 3

They had met twice more, in the intervening weeks. As anticipated, neither breathed a word of their rendezvous, least of all when the girls began to filter in and slowly filled the lonely rooms with gossip and idle chatter. Their stares and whispers reinforced his disconnection, digging ever deeper into his self-worth. With each new face, and each new barely-concealed judgement, he found himself yearning for her all the more.

In the cool light of day, she treated him as less than a man. Her barbs stung worse than any battlefield wound, a constant reminder that he would never be ever incomplete in her eyes. In the shadows, he would tell himself that it was her pain speaking, her loneliness, nothing more. He knew that, in her eyes, every moment with him was a slap in the face by the son who had left her without a word, who's death she still refused to accept. If Tommy was his replacement, then Richard was the ever present reminder of his betrayal.

And yet, with each dig, he wanted her all the more.

At this hour, the house was once again blissfully silent. Tommy had been tucked into bed hours before, and the handful of girls newly under their employ had bid goodnight to their customers and retired, themselves. Richard made his rounds, steadily padding the halls and locking the front and back doors dutifully. He took pride in this work, despite the gnawing guilt of his good Christian upbringing, of the god he had lost sight of during the war. He saw no logical fault in dealing in fantasies, as Gillian put it. He thought with a weary smile of Chicago, and of Odette. The familiar stirring urged him to be quick with his duties, tonight.

He smoothed his hair and straightened his glasses self-consciously before knocking, and turned the knob before he had received an answer.

"Close the door."

Ever obedient, he did as he was told. She lifted the sheet to beckon him towards her, milky skin deliciously exposed.

"Shall we continue where we left off?" she asked, her voice sweet but firm as she sat up and began to the methodical process of undressing him. He could feel the blood rushing to that bulging muscle that her hand kept grazing as if by accident, though he knew better. He had been steeling himself all day; tonight, he would show her just how apt a pupil he could be.

As her hand brushed his fly once more, a coy smile spread across her face. "My oh my," she breathed, tracing the length of him with a teasing finger, sending shivers down his spine.

He couldn't help himself—eye ablaze, he grabbed her by the wrists; her gaze flashed to his, taken by surprise. He threw her back onto the bed, ripping his pants away with a flourish and diving towards her. She tossed her head back as his lips brushed her taut nipples, gasped for air when his fingers parted her legs. Hers entwined themselves in his thick black hair, pushing his masked face towards a trove of pleasure. Try as he might, pressing his lips to her and tasting her sweetness on his tongue, the mask proved an insurmountable obstacle. But he didn't dare remove it; he wouldn't let her see him, not like that.

Instead, he placed a hand firmly on either side of her waist, holding her down as he climbed atop her. Throbbing, he thrust three fingers inside of her, relishing in the waves of furious, relentless ecstasy that contorted her beautiful, world-wearied face. She grabbed a fistful of sheets as she tightened around his fingers, but he wouldn't let her off so easily.

In one swift move he had twirled her onto her stomach, raising her towards him and entering her with the ferocity of an alpha male mounting his hard-fought prize. When each powerful jolt of his hips drew screams from deep within her, he placed a hand over her mouth—but gently, a reminder—and let the other find her breast. He massaged her, caressed her, all the while losing himself in the rhythm of this dance and her muffled cries of passion.

He hadn't meant to come with her, but the feel of her losing control overtook him, and his release was blindingly sweet. As usual, his eyes opened to a blur of dimmed lamps, tangled sheets, and skin beaded with sweat. Slowly, her crown of rose-red curls shifted into focus, and reality returned. He backed away from her, open-palmed and horrified by the barbaric lust that had possessed him only moments before. She in turn curled herself onto the mattress, drawing her knees to her chest and letting her haunted eyes settle on nothing at all. As usual, neither dared to speak.

He lifted the blanket like a shroud and covered her shivering frame. He couldn't bring himself to look at her as he dressed and hurried from the room, leaving her to her waking nightmares, knowing full well he would face none of his own tonight.

Tomorrow, maybe, but not tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

She had seethed for days after their last meeting. Every sight of him, every moment in his presence brought that night rushing back to the forefront of her mind, the ecstasy at odds with the terrifying free-fall of losing control. It was the closest she had come to pure, unbridled release since that drunken evening in Princeton, so very long ago.

She took every opportunity to cut him down to size. She accused him of any number of invented crimes, went out of her way to insult his intelligence or make his affliction abundantly clear. Her biting words were a constant reaffirmation that he was less than a man. At the sight of one of the girls getting a touch too familiar with him, she nearly fired them both. It was then that he had taken a defiant step towards her, looking her dead in the eye and simply growling her name—her first name, which he never dared use in mixed company—and she found herself standing down. She had spent the hours since forging tonight's plan.

It was she who crept down the hall that night, steeling her resolve with each step. Every inch of her skin yearned for his touch, the sheer power he held at bay with each caress, and she felt her pulse quicken as she neared his door. His nerve was infuriating.

He was seated at his desk when she pushed open the door—she hadn't given a thought to knocking, not in her own house. He slammed a small book shut at the sight of her, eyeing her suspiciously. She closed the door softly and leaned back against it, studying his strange, almost-handsome face and feeling a malevolent smile cross her own.

"Have I caught you off guard?" she asked, her voice sticky-sweet and dripping with resentment.

"I. Was just—"

"Let's play a game." She sauntered towards him, watching with delight as his muscles tensed with each inch that disappeared between them. She was on her knees before him in one graceful motion, wrenching his knees apart and undoing his fly with nimble fingers. Clearly, a part of him was pleased to see her.

In the corner of her eye she saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the handles of his chair. Her strokes were slow but relentless, her eyes trained on his poor, ruined face. Finally, his eye fluttered shut, and only then did she release him.

"Did you enjoy that?" Her voice was teasing, by design. He nodded in spite of himself, and again her smile returned. She held out her hand to him, leading him to his bed like a cattle to slaughter before dropping her dress to the floor and running her hands over breasts tauntingly, fingertips grazing her nipples and the long strands of pearls that hung from her neck. "Did you enjoy that," she continued, "like last time?" She made quick work of removing his pants, though he didn't dare protest.

She could feel his sharp intake of breath as her mouth enveloped him, her tongue exploring the length of him, taking as much of him as her mouth would permit. She wanting him to reach for her, to grab her hair and force her to take him deeper, but his hands remained pinned to his side. All the better, she thought with amusement as her tongue traced winding paths from base to tip.

Experience had taught her well. She could feel him rising towards release with each flick of her tongue. She pulled away suddenly, squeezing the base of his cock with a swift forcefulness that caused his eye to shoot open and his head jolting upwards. A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips. "I thought you wanted to play," she teased, and wrapped her lips around him once more.

He was still so ignorant of the rules: it was only moments before he was losing himself again in the deftness of her lips, his head falling back once more. This time, she pinched the skin of his scrotum and gave it a purposeful tug to jerk him back to reality, causing his throat to release a strange, guttural yelp. It was almost endearing, the way he trusted her so implicitly even as she continued to betray him.

It took him ages to finally grab her head and force her not to pull away. Curling her hair between his fingers, he forced her downward and back, but she was not about to let him gain the upper hand. He released her from his grasp the moment her teeth latched down on him.

"Now, now," she admonished. "That's against the rules." Suddenly, she was stroking him furiously, drawing him so close to climax that she nearly missed her chance to stop it. But she was quicker than he, pulling back just in time. She grabbed his hands and parted them as she climbed atop him, his throbbing manhood tantalizingly close to its desired destination. First she pressed each hand to her chest, luxuriating in his touch, then pulled them away until they brushed the bedposts above his head. It was here that her necklaces served their purpose well, trapping him in place as his eye darted wildly across her face.

She ripped his undershirt open, relishing in the fabric's screams of protest, and dragged her nails down his chest, admiring the thick, jagged trails they left in their wake. When she lowered herself onto him, his hips bucked instinctively, and she could't help the surge of pleasure he drew from her. Again, she waited patiently for him to near release, then lifted herself free and dug her nails into his skin once more. Half-moons of blood began to pool where her claws had broken his skin.

She pushed him inside of her again, grabbing him by the throat and delighting in his struggle. As the oxygen seeped from his brain, she knew he could barely contain himself, though she couldn't hold off much longer, either. Her head swam with the need to relinquish control, for one delicious moment, but she fought the urge with every fiber of her being.

His muscles tensed, hips rising from the bed and lifting her with them. Only then did she withdraw her hand from his neck and climb down from his lap, watching his eye shoot open to search wildly for her. But she was already dressing and moving towards the door.

"Sleep well," she purred from the doorway, stealing one last glance at him, laying helplessly with hands fastened to the bedposts and penis still violently erect, before leaving him behind to consider all he had brought on himself. Release would have been divine, to be sure, but regaining the upper hand proved far sweeter.


End file.
